


no sisters left

by blacksandunderstars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Limbs, Multi, Not Quite Canon Compliant But Close, Other, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-10-29 23:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksandunderstars/pseuds/blacksandunderstars
Summary: After the battle on Crait, Rose Tico wakes up to a galaxy where the First Order has all but won the war, and she's painfully reminded of the very personal toll that war has taken on her. But even as she struggles with everything she's lost, she's trying to figure out how to build a new life with the people she's found.





	1. climb to the surface

**Author's Note:**

> A cannon is a very big gun. The canon is a widely accepted or officially sanctioned version of a work. Sadly I can only pretend to know how to use either. And I hope the liberties I've taken with the latter prove to be worthwhile.

One of Rose’s earliest, clearest memories was being carried on Paige’s back. She had her arms looped around Paige’s neck, but they were shivering too much under her tattered coat to really hold on. Paige had to hold her up, which she did without being asked.

Sometimes Paige sang songs to distract her. Not this time, though.

Rose could barely keep her eyes open. She dozed and listened to the soothing rhythm of Paige’s boots as they crunched through a layer of filthy slush coating the little side alleys on the way back to the refitted storage pod they called home.

That was before their parents sent them away. Before the First Order came to the Otomok system.

At the time she was simply happy to rest her legs.

It was only much later, after she’d seen countless frost-encrusted bodies lying in those same dark alleys, that she would realize how lucky she was to have someone there for her—to carry her when she needed to be carried, hold her when she needed to be held, to keep her warm and sing her songs.

And it was the sure and piercing knowledge of that absence which was foremost on her mind when she blinked her way to consciousness and found herself alone in a quiet and empty darkness.

And her first coherent thought was this: I died. I must be dead. 

But where’s Paige?

Then other sensations came filtering back. A mechanical click and whir with the same steady beat as footsteps. A corona of dim orange light playing at the edge of her vision. The sour reek of sweat. And her own breathing, tight and half panicked, as she became aware she was still alive but didn’t know where she was or remember what’d happened after she saw Finn’s face that last time.

His face, framed by the savage red light of the siege cannon.

The siege cannon.

They fired it.

What if the First Order has me? What if they have Finn? What if they won?

Terror, cold and hollow as vacuum, welled up inside her, tightening in her chest. She tried sitting up and was rewarded with a bright flower of pain which blossomed under her eyelids, briefly blotting out all other perception, and then sunk down to settle as a bone-deep ache low in her abdomen. She gasped and settled back.

Okay, no moving yet.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut until the flashing lights winked out. Then she took a slow, calming breath, which didn’t work nearly as well as she was hoping, and let her eyes flutter open.

There wasn’t much light wherever she was, but if she concentrated she thought she could make out battered padding on a curved ceiling above her. It was worn thin in places and discolored by age and use and didn’t look much like anything the First Order might use.

That, at least, was an encouraging sign.

And by swiveling her eyes back and forth she discovered more of the same padding on the walls next to her on one side, and the faint outlines of what might be some shoddy medical equipment on the other side, which also seemed to be the source of the mechanical noises and the meager illumination. One of the devices had a small pale orange status light glowing steadily in the dark. 

She squinted at it, breathing easier as the terror loosened its grip ever so slightly. Someone was caring for her. She wasn’t alone.

But where in the galaxy was she? 

The way the bed rumbled slightly beneath her suggested a ship of some kind, but beyond that she could only guess. The only thing she was certain about was that it wasn’t a First Order ship. It couldn’t be. Even their prison cells were cleaner than this. And smelled better, too.

After a while she closed her eyes and tried to relax and ignore the profound, gutting ache in her belly. Whoever set up the medical gear would probably be back eventually. All she had to do was wait.

Which was fine, because she was reasonably convinced waiting was all she could manage right now. Most of her body below her ribs felt . . . stepped on. Or taken apart and put back together again by someone with only a passing familiarity with human anatomy. The pain seemed focused on a knot in her stomach, with occasional electric pulses that jolted through her hips and down her legs. Every time that happened she saw little colored lights dance across her vision.

Even her feet were sore.

I must’ve been hurt worse than I thought, she decided. She recalled the feeling of being hit—a great wrenching, thudding blow—but strangely enough had no memory of any pain before waking. Just her own voice saying something, Finn’s face, red light, and then nothing.

She tried looking down at herself, even very carefully lifted up the blanket that was draped over her, but in the faint light none of her injuries were visible. She could, however, see enough to recognize that she was naked underneath the blanket, and felt an exceedingly mild pang of embarrassment.

Then there was another searing twist of pain lighting up the darkness, and she laid her head back, let go of the blanket, and resolved not to move again until whoever it was taking care of her smartened up and gave her some painkillers. Preferably strong ones.

To distract herself from the fading agony, she began to sing softly under her breath, mumbling the words because she’d never really learned them properly. 

It was Paige who had known all the songs and done all the singing in their family. She’d had one or two for every occasion—a song for hammering away in the mines, for pushing carts, for walking home, for scrounging and begging in the streets, for the fleeting time they got to spend with their parents.

And a song for lulling her tired sister to sleep.

That was the one Rose was trying, and failing, to sing now. The problem being, she hadn’t heard how the last verse went. It was something about warm winds and watches of the night and the stars overhead, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fit the words together the way they were supposed to go. There was always a piece missing.

As a result, there were tears dripping down the sides of her cheeks when the world abruptly went blindingly bright. She gasped, cringing, eyes scrunched up against the sudden glare.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said a voice, a woman’s voice. The lights faded down to a more tolerable level. “You’re awake!” the voice added in an excited whisper. “I didn’t—I mean, we weren’t sure—” The voice trailed off.

Rose turned her head and squinted up at the person now standing near her bedside. She wasn’t truly sure what she’d expected to see, but it wasn’t a young human woman with her dark hair pulled back to hang about her shoulders and her face lit up by a big goofy smile which showed a wide swathe of her upper teeth.

And even better, in Rose’s opinion, was that she definitely wasn’t wearing a First Order uniform. Far from it. Her clothes looked like scraps she’d scavenged from a bin of castoffs.

Rose sniffed and couldn’t help but smile back, although she imagined hers was slightly less radiant. She certainly didn’t _feel_ radiant, not with her cheeks wet from tears and her guts throbbing and that horrible smell she could only assume was coming from her unwashed body.

Adding to the general theme of misery, she opened her mouth and found it dry and sour, a chemical taste lurking on her tongue. She swallowed and her throat stung.

The woman’s smile turned into a worried frown. “Are you okay? I only left to get you a fresh blanket. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

“Who,” rasped Rose, “are you?”

Then the smile crept back. “I’m Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving credit where it's due, I owe the initial inspiration for the opening bit of this chapter to this lovely piece of fan art: <https://willow-s-linda.tumblr.com/post/169092391858/paige-and-rose>


	2. blink my eyes and look around

Finn came rushing in with a huge grin on his face and nearly knocked over some of the medical gear in his haste to get to Rose’s bedside. The devices were so old they still used some hardwired connections rather than relying exclusively on sensors, and Rose felt a few of the lines tug on her arm and chest before Rey lunged in and steadied everything.

A warm rush of relief filled her. She almost laughed in sheer delight, but a warning twinge of pain from roundabout her hips cut it back to a smile.

“Finn,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “You’re okay.”

Bracing herself to be pulled up in a hug or something equally extravagant, she was grateful, if slightly puzzled, when Finn reached out for her, hesitated, and then hung back, gingerly laying a hand on her naked shoulder instead. His grip was loose, like he was afraid she might break if he pressed too hard.

“You were worried about _me_?” said Finn. “We were all worried about you.”

As he spoke, more people came piling into the small triangular room that was the _Millennium Falcon_ ’s combined crew quarters and galley. BB-8 rolled in first, followed by Poe and Lieutenant Connix, and then a scattering of others—both human and alien—crowded in behind them to peek through the doorway.

Every one of them seemed pleased to see her. Even BB-8 managed to appear cheerful. His domed head wobbled back and forth, and he chirped inquisitively.

“I’m fine,” said Rose, smiling sheepishly at all the attention and pulling the blanket up a bit higher. “Just a little sore.”

But then she started to notice how strained their expressions were. Her eyes went from one tense, awkward smile to another, none of them quite willing to meet her gaze save for Finn, who returned it with anxious concern in his big brown eyes.

Rose frowned.

What are they all so worried about?

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Rey and Finn exchanged a nervous glance. “You didn’t tell her?” said Finn.

“No, I—” said Rey, wringing her hands. “I thought it was more important she knew we made it off Crait first.”

“Tell me what?” said Rose. She felt a pressure building in her chest while her mind raced with the possibilities of horrors that hadn’t occurred to her yet. Without thinking, she tried to sit up, then fell back with a whimper as her entire lower body clenched in agony. Finn took her hand, and she latched onto it fiercely.

BB-8 emitted a sympathetic sounding tone.

“Hey, take it easy,” said Finn gently, stroking Rose’s knuckles with his thumb.

Rose tried to focus on that motion. From over the sound of her own ragged breathing, she heard Poe’s voice say, “Come on folks, show’s over. Let’s give her a chance to rest.”

She didn’t actually see him, or any of the others, because her eyes were closed, but there was a fading clatter of footsteps on deck plates, Poe said something else in a whisper, and then there were more footsteps followed by the metallic whir of BB-8’s exit.

When the pain had finally subsided to a tolerable level and her vision had cleared, she ventured opening her eyes. Finn was still standing next her, his hand comfortingly warm around hers, and Rey had moved up next to him. They both looked so worried that she found herself giving them a lopsided smile before she remembered they probably had bad news. 

The smile faded.

“Is it the General?” she gasped. “Is she okay? Did . . . did the First Order find the other rally points?” She paused for a couple breaths. “What happened?”

“The General’s fine,” said Finn. “We don’t know about the rally points yet. We’ve been kinda busy.”

Rey nodded. “You were hurt worse than we thought,” she said. “We had to find a medical facility, but every nearby system was under attack.”

Rose glanced back and forth between them. Now that she was paying closer attention, she realized how tired they both looked, as if they hadn’t slept for days—cheeks pale, eyes bloodshot and bruised underneath.

How had she not seen it before?

Finn squeezed her hand. “We did the best we could. You—you almost died.”

“I’m sorry,” said Rey. “I should’ve told you everything earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She hung her head.

“It’s okay,” Rose murmured. In comparison to the nightmares she’d conjured up for herself, having nearly died didn’t seem too bad. “Uh . . . If you want to make it up to me, I could use something for the pain.”

With a quiet groan of dismay, Rey winced and dropped to one knee, leaning over next to the medical gear. “Yeah,” she said, over the sound of some hurried rummaging. “Let me get that for you.”

She popped back up with a pair of small square packets in hand, tore them open, and applied the round patches inside to Rose’s shoulder. 

The first one didn’t do much, but the second brought an almost immediate dulling of sensation which spread swiftly through Rose’s body. Within a few seconds even the soreness was gone. Peering up at the low curved ceiling above her, she breathed deep, and found that came easier too.

What confused her, however, was that her feet and left calf kept right on aching, like the drugs weren’t reaching them. For the first time since she’d woken, it occurred to her to try moving her legs, and as she did, she immediately knew something was wrong.

They shifted beneath the blanket—she could feel the texture of the fabric slide across her thighs—and that was encouraging, but they were also sluggish and seemed somehow wrong in a way she couldn’t quite define. And when she attempted to move her feet, nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

The pressure came back, a slowly gathering weight on her chest.

“Rose, we need to tell you something,” said Finn slowly.

“What’s wrong with my legs?” said Rose, and her voice was calmer than she expected it to be. She was hoping to hear it was some kind of nerve damage, something a few hours with a medical droid could repair.

Except nerve damage wouldn’t have gotten everyone so worked up, would it?

She dug her fingers into Finn’s palm while her other hand felt in vain for the pendant which should’ve been resting over her heart and wasn’t. “Before you tell me anything,” she whispered, “I want my medallion back.”


	3. first interlude

The battered old comm unit on the wall was beeping. Normally the incoming message light would also have been blinking, but it had overloaded a few weeks ago during one of colony’s habitual power grid fluctuations, leaving a tangle of exposed wires and a few shards of blue plastic where the light had been previously.

Rose had been told, in no uncertain terms, to leave it alone, which was why instead of answering she was standing in front of the comm unit and watching expectantly as it beeped and occasionally threw a spark or two.

There was no need to tell Paige about the call, because she was already extricating herself from the pile of homework she’d made on the couch in one corner of the narrow room. She rushed over, swept up in front of Rose, and jabbed the answer button with her thumb.

“Yeah?”

“Paige?” It was their mother’s voice.

“Yup.”

“Hi, hon. Your father and I got a double shift tonight and we won’t be home until late. Just wanted to let you two know. Make sure your homework gets done and your sister gets fed before turning in. And don’t stay up too long after lights-out.”

She sounded tired, something which Rose hardly noticed through her disappointment. The whelk races were tonight. Her father had promised to take her. She’d been planning on it for _weeks_.

“Okay, Mama,” said Paige. “Anything else?”

“Nope. That’s all. We’ll see you both in the morning. Give Rose a kiss goodnight for us.”

“She’s right here—”

But Rose had already spun about and marched off, biting her quivering lip, fighting back the tears that were stinging her eyes and threatening to spill out over her suddenly warm cheeks. Behind her she heard Paige say, “Well, she was here.”

As her mother started to reply, Rose dove into the refresher stall and slammed the sliding door shut, cutting off all noise save for the sound of her own sniffling. She knew Paige would be coming after her and, feeling a stab of petulant rebellion, hit the door lock. Then she leaned back against the door and slid down until she was hugging her knees on the cold metal floor.

It was difficult to tell how much time passed, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute before there was a tentative knock on the door and Paige said, “Rose?”

“Go away.”

“I could do that, except I don’t really have any other place to be right now. So unless you’ve got a suggestion, I think I’ll stay right here.”

“Just . . .” Rose considered this for a moment. “Just leave me alone.”

“Nope, I’m not gonna leave. I’m never gonna leave. Never, ever. I’m gonna haunt you until you come out or I have to pee, whichever comes first.”

The door rattled. Rose buried her face between her knees and pretended she didn’t hear. When Paige spoke again, her voice was closer, as though she’d sat down too.

“Come on, Rosie. I know you’re hungry.”

“He promised. He _promised_ we’d go tonight.”

“I know. But . . . we need the credits,” said Paige reasonably. “And they run the races again in a couple weeks. You can go next time.”

“It’s not fair,” Rose mumbled, closing her eyes. She could just about picture what she was going to miss.

The whelks were ridiculous looking creatures—colorful little spiral shells, hard as bone, covering soft slimy bodies crowned with a pair of bulbous eyes on long stalks. They oozed along on a carpet of tiny tentacles, moving so slowly it took them the better part of several minutes to cover the two meters to the finish line.

They were ugly and clammy and gross.

Rose loved them.

Her particular favorite was number seven, also known as Gaz. She had a blue-dotted pink shell and a greenish-blue body and a tendency to wander out of her lane and get disqualified. She never actually won, and the races were kind of boring until the very end, but—

“How about this,” said Paige. “You come out and eat your dinner, and I’ll take you to the race myself.”

“I thought—I thought we weren’t supposed to go out just the two of us.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Rose sniffed. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” said Rose begrudgingly.

“Good. Now unlock the door. I really do have to pee.”


	4. i'm all alone here

The crew quarters were empty and quiet, the only sound a muffled rumble as the _Falcon_ sped through hyperspace on her way to find the scattered remains of the Resistance.

Rose was alone.

Earlier, with Rey’s assistance, she’d finally managed to sit up enough to see the remains of her legs, and she’d been sitting there ever since: hunched slightly to the side, braced with a few lumpy pillows, and clutching her pendant in both hands, holding it against her chest to keep the blanket up, staring, feeling numb—and not just because of the drugs in her veins.

Her right leg was intact down to the bottom of her shin, where it abruptly ended, capped off by a device she recognized as being designed to preserve the flesh in a kind of stasis. It would make it easier to reattach a limb if one was available or, in this case, to eventually attach a prosthesis.

The left was similarly capped, but above her knee—or where her knee had been, anyway.

Her skin was an ugly mottled black and purple all up and down her thighs. She’d checked earlier and found her midriff and pelvis much the same, along with some partly healed scars for good measure. 

According to Rey’s halting explanation, they’d used up their entire supply of bacta saving that much of her. The rest had been too mangled for any other treatment to work, and when the flesh had turned necrotic, they’d been forced to cut it off.

The problem, apparently, was that the _Falcon_ hadn’t been properly stocked for dealing with major trauma. Rose had needed a real medical facility with a full bacta bath, not a smuggler’s survival kit. And they’d spent days trying to find one, racing across the galaxy in the hope of saving her limbs and her life. But by the time they’d found a system clear of First Order ships and an underworld doctor with sufficient skill to piece her half crushed organs back together, her legs were already beyond saving.

After all the horrible things which had happened in the course of the last week, all the losses, it felt perversely appropriate that even her body hadn’t managed to escape unscathed.

She glowered at the pathetic stumps. She wanted to cry yet couldn’t seem to find any more tears.

“Rose?”

The voice—Finn’s voice—came from outside the room. There was no door, and for her sake everyone had taken to calling out before they entered. She appreciated the thought, but in practice it was kind of annoying.

“Yeah?” she said. Her voice was clearer now, and her throat wasn’t quite as sore. A few cups of water had worked wonders.

“Can I come in?”

Before answering, Rose hastily resettled the blanket so it covered most of her legs again. Although she wasn’t naked anymore, because Rey had also kindly helped her put on some undergarments, she felt a bit more comfortable with the extra layer between her and the world—not quite as exposed.

Then she wiped her face with a hand and tried to put on a less angry expression. “Uh, yeah. Go ahead.”

Finn stepped around the corner, saw her, and immediately balked in the doorway. “Is . . . this a bad time?” he said, hands playing with the bottom of his jacket. “I can come back later.”

Rose gritted her teeth. Nearly everyone on board had taken a turn doing this routine with her, treating her like they were afraid she was going to shatter if her every whim wasn’t indulged. They meant well; she knew they did. But it was maddening.

“What do you want?” she said, biting out the words. And then, realizing how harsh they’d sounded, harsher than she’d intended and harsher than he deserved, she sighed and looked down. She was squeezing her pendant so hard her knuckles were white. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . You probably shouldn’t listen to me right now.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Finn. “You’ve been through a lot. I’ll just come back later.”

His tone was warm and reasonable and reassuring and not at all as hurt as it probably should’ve been. Rose heard his footsteps as he turned around, but she only let him take one step away before she said, “Wait.”

She glanced sidelong at him, feeling a twinge of uncertainty. She’d been so certain that she wanted to be alone, yet suddenly the idea of letting him leave seemed almost unbearable.

“Don’t go,” she added softly.

And he came back, crossing to the bunk in a hesitant walk, without anything like the frenzied rush from before. The medical equipment had been disconnected and moved aside a while ago, replaced by a crate squat enough to serve as a seat. He sat down on it, and Rose offered a wan smile, which he matched. His was better though—something about that flash of teeth against dark brown skin.

“You’re sure I’m not bothering you?” he said.

“I’m sure.”

He held up a small nondescript jar. “Well, I bring gifts. A gift. Sort of.” As Rose eyed the container skeptically, he went on by way of explanation: “It’s some kind of paste. The doc said it would help your bruises heal faster, since we’re out of bacta for now.”

Then he frowned. “I guess it’s not much of a gift really. And it kinda stinks, too.”

“What’s it made from?” said Rose, holding out a hand.

“He didn’t say,” said Finn, who gave the jar over. “All he said was to apply it once a standard day and not to use very much.”

Nodding, Rose turned the jar back and forth. It wasn’t labeled, which struck her as kind of worrying. And when she opened it for a second and sniffed experimentally, it did indeed stink. She made a sour face. “Smells like whelk slime. Does this stuff even work?”

“Seems to. We used some on you yesterday, before you woke up.”

“Huh . . . guess that explains why I stink so bad. I thought I just needed a shower.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Finn earnestly, then quickly added, “How you smell, I mean.”

Rose peered into his face, thinking maybe he was poking fun at her, and saw nothing there except for honest concern. He shifted uncomfortably under her attention, and she half smiled and looked at the jar again. “I’m going to need some help putting it on. I can’t sit up much more than this.”

“Oh, uh . . . yeah, sure. Um, if you’d rather have Rey do it, I could—”

“No, it’s fine. You’ve seen the—the wreckage already, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead then,” Rose whispered. She handed the jar back and pulled the blanket up above her knees—knee, she reminded herself—while glaring at the wall next to her shoulder. She didn’t want to see Finn’s reaction. Her other hand was still clenched tight around her pendant, and her thumb rubbed up and down against the hard metal edge of it.

The jar was opened again, the drifting fetid scent unmistakable, and a moment later she flinched when she felt his fingers brush over her right calf. She hadn’t been entirely certain whether she’d feel anything at all with the drugs in her system, but there was definitely a sensation. Dulled, yet kind of grating.

As his fingers gingerly caressed her swollen skin, tears sprang up and blurred her vision. She closed her eyes. Her breathing ran faster. And she couldn’t understand why. It didn’t hurt. He was being gentle.

What’s wrong with me?

Then after she flinched again, Finn stopped. “Are you okay? Is this stuff hurting you?”

Rose shook her head, unsure of what to tell him. Suddenly all she wanted was to sink into the bulkhead, to disappear, to have a wall between her and everything. The blanket wasn’t enough. A thousand blankets wouldn’t have been enough.

“Rose?”

Finn sounded worried, almost scared, but still she said nothing, only hunched her shoulders and bowed her head. Every tear she couldn’t find before felt like it was threatening to spill out all at once. She pulled the blanket up as far as it would go and scowled as she fought to stop herself from crying.

It nearly worked. It would have, if Finn had left her there or just done nothing. But instead she heard him take off his jacket. And then he leaned against her and slipped the jacket over her shoulders. And somehow that was exactly the right thing to do.

The leather was warm and smelled like Finn, which was a lot better than the malodorous paste. His arm lingered around her, his hand lightly gripping her shoulder. 

She reached across herself and grabbed onto his fingers, holding him in that awkward embrace, and quietly began to sob.


	5. as i try my tiny song

Later there was some uneasy sleep. Not enough, though.

Rose woke slowly, squinting up at the same grubby rundown ceiling over the same bunk where she’d been for the better part of thirty-six standard hours now. She grimaced and rubbed her eyes.

The lights were dimmer than they’d been before, but there was still that faint grumble of hyperspace—a slight tremor that ran through the whole ship. For a few seconds she felt a profound sense of repetition, as though she were reliving the same moment over and over again, finding herself back in the same place with only the slightest variations.

It wouldn’t have been quite so unsettling if it’d been a better moment and a better place. She could recall lots of experiences she wouldn’t mind reliving: sitting on her father’s lap watching adventure serials on the holo-projector with her family, that time Gaz finally won a race, playing veterinarian with Paige and the neighborhood kids, her first kiss.

This, here and now, wasn’t really on the list. And yet here she was anyway.

Then the feeling faded, leaving behind a keen awareness of a pressure low in her belly. She blinked a few times. Her initial thought was that the last round of painkillers must be wearing off, but she shifted on the bed to test the hypothesis and found no other sudden blooming of pain or discomfort.

Strange.

She lay there, puzzling it over, until a second thought occurred to her, and it wasn’t so much a thought as a horrifying realization which immediately burned away every last bit of comfortable drowsiness.

I need to pee. Really bad.

She turned her head, looking around the room as best she could manage. The galley side was empty, but there was a familiar figure in the other bunk. She was almost certain she’d never felt more relieved to see another living being.

“Rey,” she whispered urgently. When that elicited no reaction, she raised her voice a little. “Rey?”

The figure stirred, and Rose was just glancing about for something to throw at her when Rey grumbled, in a voice thick with sleep, “What?”

“Sorry,” said Rose, trying to keep quiet as she propped herself up on her elbows and winced at how amazingly stiff every last part of her body was. “I need . . . some help.”

Clearly both alarmed and still half asleep, Rey rolled out onto the deck, spilling her blanket out with her, and lurched over to Rose’s bedside. “What’s wrong?”

Her hair had partially escaped from its tie and was splayed about wildly, and that, added to the wrinkled shirt and pants, gave her a disheveled appearance which might have been more amusing if Rose didn’t feel as if she was going to wet herself any second now.

She hesitated, frowned, glancing down at her smelly and barely dressed self. But the insistent nature of her problem quickly overrode any other concerns. “I need to, uh . . . I kind of need to pee. Is there a bedpan or something?”

“Oh, um . . .” Rey wiped her bleary eyes with the heels of her hands, stifled a ferocious yawn, blinked a few times, and began looking around among the collection of supplies piled nearby. “I think there’s one around here somewhere. Or I could just take you to the refresher if you’d prefer,” she added offhandedly.

“How?”

“I can carry you,” said Rey, like it was the most obvious possible answer.

Rose stared at her, incredulous. “You can carry me?”

“Carried Finn once. I think I can manage.”

“You carried Finn?”

“Sure.”

Rey looked absolutely confident. And despite being on the skinny side, there were muscles distinctly visible on her bare arms. And a bedpan wasn’t exactly the most alluring prospect. And the refresher was right there next to the crew quarters entrance, so it wasn’t like they’d have to cross the ship . . .

“Okay,” said Rose reluctantly. “If you’re sure.”

With an easygoing smile, Rey pointed at her. “You wanna keep the jacket on?”

“Huh?” Rose’s gaze dropped. “Oh . . . yeah.”

She’d forgotten she was still wearing it. Finn had left it on her after he’d finished putting on that horrible paste. She hadn’t wanted to part with it then, and didn’t now.

The sleeves were a bit long for her, but they probably wouldn’t be too much trouble. 

She pulled the leather tighter around herself and nodded. “Do you need me to—” she began.

But Rey was already sliding her right arm under Rose’s legs. She hooked her elbow under Rose’s remaining knee, then grabbed Rose’s other leg just below the metal cap. Once she had a firm grip, she slid her left arm under Rose’s back just below her shoulders.

“Ready?” she said.

Rose tensed, bracing herself, as Rey lifted her up with only a soft grunt. Rose was so surprised that she instinctively wrapped an arm around Rey’s shoulders, though doing so hardly seemed necessary. Rey wasn’t struggling. She turned and walked the five or six paces to the refresher closet without much apparent difficulty.

The door was open, and Rey went in sideways, carefully negotiating the doorway itself to avoid bumping Rose’s head. Then she muttered a curse.

“What?” said Rose.

“Oh, nothing,” said Rey. “Forgot to put the lid up first.”

She leaned back against the wall, briefly balancing on one leg while Rose clung to her in alarm, and flipped the lid up with her foot. “There we go,” she muttered, easing Rose down onto the seat.

Compared to the bunk, the plasteel material was shockingly cold against Rose’s skin. She made an effort to straighten herself up, but her back muscles were trembly and weak. Rey had to gently push her upright.

“Do you need anything else?” she said, when Rose was settled.

“I don’t think so,” said Rose, shaking her head. “Thank you.”

Rey flashed another one of her easy, charming smiles. “I’ll wait outside. Just gimme a shout when you’re done.”

The folding door was slid shut behind her, leaving Rose in the relative quiet of the tiny room. There was a sonic shower stall in front of her and a tiny sink behind. A pair of lamps on the ceiling provided sufficient, if slightly flickering, illumination. She reached down and, in quick jerks, first one side then the other, worked her underpants down her thighs.

At least I’ve still got both of those, she thought, with a strained sort of cheerfulness. And hey, the bladder still works, too.

After she was finished, she called Rey back in, received some help washing her hands—Rey appeared to find her insistence on this somewhat baffling—and then got picked up once more and returned to the bunk and the warmth of her blanket.

Rey lingered there beside her for a moment before turning away, and as she did, Rose grabbed her hand. “Thanks,” she said. “I don’t know why you’re going to so much trouble to help me, but I appreciate it.”

“You saved Finn,” Rey whispered. She turned her head back, her fingers curling around Rose’s hand. She had a strange, intense look on her face. “I don’t know what I would’ve—” Her voice choked off, and she blinked and looked away. 

There was a brief spell of quiet while the _Falcon_ gently rattled around them. 

“You saved him,” said Rey. “Taking care of you is the least I can do.”

Then she pulled out of Rose’s grip, scooped up her own blanket from off the deck, and hopped back into the other bunk.

Rose watched her settle.

During her mission with Finn, she remembered wondering what kind of person could possibly have inspired such devoted concern from him. It would have to be someone special, she’d thought then. Someone like her parents. Someone like Paige.

And now she was starting to think she understood why Finn liked Rey so much.

Rose closed her eyes and listened to the ship’s muted complaints as it tore through hyperspace faster than its ancient design was ever meant to go. In the hush, her own breathing sounded overloud, and she could just make out a soft rustling from Rey’s bunk.

“You still awake?” Rey’s voice.

“Uh-huh.”

“I meant to ask you—were you singing something earlier, after you first woke up?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought so. I was sure I recognized the song.”

“You did?” said Rose, frowning. “How?”

It didn’t seem possible.

She glanced across the room at Rey, who had sat up in her bunk and was leaning slightly forward, arms circled around her propped up knees. “On Jakku, we had this group of people who worshiped the Force. I used to visit their settlement sometimes. They were a bit _intense_ about certain things. Suppose that’s bound to happen when you spend so much time out in the sun. But they loved their singing. They taught me a few songs.”

“Oh,” said Rose. “I always thought that Paige—my sister—that she made it up for me. She used to sing it if I couldn’t sleep.”

Her hand slid under Finn’s jacket and found the pendant on her chest, the metal warm to her touch. She studied the padded cushion directly above her head, chewing on her lower lip. Then, in a softer voice, she said, “Our family’s pod had this dome. Paige and I piled up blankets and pillows underneath and slept there sometimes. You could see the whole galaxy up there.”

How many times had her last waking memory been Paige whispering the names of the stars or, after the most difficult days, singing that silly lullaby? She wasn’t really sure. Years later the memories had all run together, until it seemed to her like they must’ve spent a lifetime together under those slowly turning points of light.

“That sounds lovely,” said Rey.

Then more quiet, for a while. Rose sniffled, feeling tears tickling her cheeks.

There was nothing she dared say.

Whenever she let her thoughts wander back to Paige, they always ended up in the same place: somewhere in the Ileenium system, floating in the void around D’Qar, where all that was left of her sister would drift for however long it took gravity to slowly, slowly pull her down and finally give her the only burial she would ever get.

But the longer the silence stretched on, the more it felt like if she didn’t say something she might never speak again. “Rey?” she croaked, her voice breaking over the word. “Do you—” a pause while she sniffed, swallowed, throat scratchy—“do you remember the last verse of the song?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how it goes,” Rose whispered. “Please?”

And her breath hitched and her shoulders stiffened when Rey began, in a clear gentle voice, to sing.

Rose hadn’t even really believed it would be the same song—hadn’t wanted to believe. But it was. She closed her eyes and listened, lost herself in the rise and fall of that familiar melody. Every last word was there, precisely where it should be.

Like Paige was sitting in the darkness with her.

Once the last note had faded, Rose wiped away the tears and whispered again, just loud enough to hear over the _Falcon_ ’s gentle rumble, “Rey?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you . . . sing it again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only defense for this is that Daisy Ridley can sing, so of course Rey can. Also, you can pry slightly-feral-desert-creature Rey from my cold, dead fingers.


	6. second interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some violence and a couple mentions of blood.

A flight of modified bombers roared overhead as Rose waited near the exit tunnel from the Central Ridge Mining Company docking bay. The comparatively warm air seeping from between the tunnel doors had partially melted the snow in a big half circle, and she stamped her boots in the slush in a vain attempt to ward off the chill.

Occasionally a passerby greeted her. There weren’t many. Except for a few members of better adapted species, nobody here spent much time outside. It was too cold and too dark. The sun wouldn’t set for another hour, but its faint illumination never did more than accentuate the perpetual gloom.

Rose rubbed her hands together inside the long sleeves of her parka and muttered under her breath, “Where are you Paige? How long does it take to park that ugly ship of yours anyway?”

With her goggles and mask on, the words sounded strangely amplified, like echoes in a cutoff mineshaft. She sidled closer to the reassuring pool of light near the tunnel doors, peering into the shadows around her.

Before the safety lamps came on, the twilight hours were an unsettling time.

Stacks of rectangular living pods, arranged in neat rows, loomed black against the dim, cloudy sky. Power cables and insulated pipes connected each pod, bridging the gaps between them with a delicate sprawling web. And every surface was trimmed in ice and snow which glowed a tenuous blue in the ghostly light.

Any other detail was lost to a darkness that wasn’t quite darkness, and it gave the colony an inhospitable, sinister air.

Which was silly, because Rose had lived here her entire life. She knew the people in those mostly windowless pods. She knew every place where the slush tended to refreeze into treacherous ice, every shortcut alley, every tricky rock outcropping. This was her home, even the parts of it which got a bit grimy or looked unpleasant in the dark.

But knowing that didn’t make her feel any less nervous.

She wanted to be back in her family’s pod, preferably curled up with a blanket and a steaming mug of something delicious, not standing out here alone in the cold. And Paige had told her countless times not to wait up if the end of their work shifts didn’t overlap. Yet somehow it only ever made her that much more determined never to let her big sister walk home by herself.

Although, she had to admit, Paige’s current lateness was testing that resolve.

If I stay out here much longer, Rose thought, I’m gonna get frostbite on something. Again.

It reminded her of a joke she’d heard the other human miners repeat: How do you know when you’re spending too much time outside? When you can’t count up to ten anymore.

Maybe it was funnier after you’d lost a digit or two. But right now she wanted to keep her fingers and toes, thank you very much. 

She hugged herself. Minutes ticked past. Or probably did. She wasn’t willing to pull her hands out to check her chrono. At some point another brave pedestrian emerged from the shadows and trudged along the neighboring alley, doubtless headed back home or perhaps, if they were particularly foolhardy, risking a trip to the local cantina. Rose nodded by way of greeting and received a nod in return, then went back to stomping her feet as she eyed the tunnel exit longingly.

The doors, just warm enough to be wet rather than icy, remained stubbornly closed.

“Come on, Paige,” Rose whispered to herself. “You’re killing me. You’re all nice and warm up there and I’m freezing to death.”

While Rose was technically an employee with the Company—just like almost everyone else on Hays Minor—she only had clearance for the mines. Her identity card wouldn’t get her into the hanger. A sign welded to the doors reminded her of that fact: Flight Crews and Maintenance Staff Only, it read, in neat block letters.

Of course, if they would just hurry up and process her application for that flight engineer position maybe she would never have to stand out in the cold ever again . . .

As she waited, mumbling complaints to the universe in general, footsteps crunched in the snow behind her, and she flinched and went quiet when a familiar voice sang out.

“What’s one of the Tico sisters doing out here this time of day?”

Oh, _great_ , thought Rose, groaning inwardly. It was just her luck. Paige was late, and now Mura had found her.

“Which one of them are you?” said Mura. “I can never tell you two apart under all that gear.”

The steps came closer, and Rose forced herself to turn around slowly. “Leave me alone, Mura,” she said, raising her voice to be heard through her mask. She hoped it sounded intimidating.

But the Pantoran woman ignored the warning and quite deliberately strolled right up next to Rose, stepping into the light with a predatory smile on her pale blue face. Unlike Rose, she wore only regular trousers, boots, and a light jacket—no mask or goggles or gloves. Her species didn’t need them. “Ah, you’re the short one,” she said, as if she found this fact delightful.

Rose looked up at her, and resisted the urge to back away.

“So where’s the other sister?” said Mura. “Or is she too busy getting someone else fired to look out for you today?”

“She’ll . . . she’ll be here any minute,” said Rose. In spite of the uncertainty in her voice, she stood up a little straighter.

Around them the growl of the mining bombers making their final approaches to the hanger echoed off the nearby buildings, sending showers of loose snow tumbling from the eaves. Each clump made a small divot in the slush beneath.

Mura glanced up at the murky clouds and chuckled. “Sounds like we’ve still got some time.”

She took a step closer and, before Rose could so much as open her mouth to reply, thrust out with both arms, palms first, right into Rose’s chest.

Rose stumbled back, lost her balance, and fell over into the dirty, half melted snow. She caught herself on her elbows, gasping at the shock of cold on her bare hands, and as icy slush began to ooze into her sleeves, she quickly sat up, shook her hands off, and wiped them on her parka. They were trembling—her whole body was. And it wasn’t only because of the cold.

“Come on, get up,” said Mura, gesturing with a curl of her fingers. She still wore that infuriating smile. “Let’s see how you manage without big sis around to do your fighting for you.”

Clutching her hands against her chest, Rose scowled.

She was on some level aware that if she stayed down, Mura probably wouldn’t do anything. At worst she might get kicked a few times before Paige and her pilot buddies came out. And while the option to avoid a fight wasn’t without appeal, she found herself getting up anyway, her hands clenching into fists, water dripping from the hem of her coat.

It was a stupid decision. She knew it was stupid. Mura was taller and stronger and heavier than her. She was going to get thrashed, and for nothing—over a misunderstanding from weeks ago that Mura was too dense to realize was a misunderstanding.

In the distance she heard a muted hiss—the hanger doors opening—and the whine of repulsorlifts and maneuvering jets, which suggested the bombers were in the process of landing. It meant Paige was going to be a few more minutes at least.

Probably not soon enough, Rose thought. She couldn’t stop herself from shaking. 

Then Mura gave a short, derisive laugh, and charged straight at her.

Even though she was ready for it this time and braced herself, Rose still lost her footing as Mura drove her backwards. They landed together with Mura on top, the sudden weight crushing the air out of Rose’s lungs and pressing her down into the freezing slush. She threw her arms up to shield herself, but Mura casually swept them aside.

The first punch hurt more than Rose was expecting, a sharp line of agony cutting across the left side of her mouth. She twisted away, wheezing as she tried to catch her breath, and felt strong hands grab her mask and goggles and tear them off her head. Then the next blow came and everything went blurry. She tasted blood, heard herself whimper. Half blind, she desperately flailed at the dark shape hovering over her, knowing there would be another punch, and another after that.

But what surprised her the most was how angry she felt. I shouldn’t be here, she kept thinking, over and over. I shouldn’t be this stupid. I shouldn’t be this scared. I shouldn’t be this _useless_.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get any leverage to roll out from underneath Mura or to push her off. The other woman might as well have been made of stone for all that she budged—her fists certainly felt like it. And after a few more hits Rose just squeezed her eyes shut, covered her head as best she could, and let the blows rain down.

Then, unexpectedly, the darkness got brighter. A voice shouted. The weight on Rose’s body lifted. There was more shouting, a clash of angry voices. With the way her ears were ringing, she couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable.

She sat up slowly, groaning. Her face hurt and her hands burned. The ringing dissipated quickly enough that she could hear feet crunching in the snow around her and Paige yelling. Her vision, however, stayed fuzzy. Her left eye wouldn’t open.

“I said back off!” Paige roared. Rose couldn’t remember her ever sounding so scary. Then came the sounds of a brief scuffle, and when Paige spoke again her voice had gone quiet, which was somehow even scarier. “You _ever_ do anything like this again, Mura, and I’ll report you to the superintendent myself. I mean it.”

Mura responded with a particularly obscene suggestion, but from farther off than before. The stamp of her retreating footsteps, along with her colorful invective, faded away.

Rose caught one last glimpse of her as a vague shadow disappearing into the deeper darkness of the alleyways. And that was it, she realized. She did this to me and now she just gets to leave without anyone doing anything about it.

How was that fair?

Growling incoherently under her breath, Rose scrabbled to her feet. She couldn’t quite see where she was going, and she wasn’t exactly sure what she would do if she managed to get there, but she staggered off in the same direction Mura had taken.

It didn’t even occur to her that anyone else was still around until someone grabbed her, slipping an arm across her waist and holding her back. She struggled against the insistent grip.

“Hey, stop.” It was Paige’s voice. “Let her go. We can sort her out later, I promise.”

As her sister spoke, Rose gradually went still. Then Paige gently maneuvered her around towards the light, and Rose . . . let it happen. The fury she’d felt moments earlier, which had seemed so bright and warm, turned cold and empty. And there was Paige in front of her, close enough for the worry on her face to be clearly visible despite Rose’s somewhat hazy view of the world.

Without the anger holding her up, Rose sagged on her feet. Paige caught her by the shoulders, steadied her.

“Are you hurt?” she said. “Let me see.”

Rose hesitantly lifted her chin and winced as gloved fingers touched her face—the whole left side from jaw to brow, including her ear, throbbed painfully. Going by Paige’s reaction, she guessed it didn’t look any better than it felt, and she sniffed and cracked a grin with the half of her mouth that didn’t hurt as much. “Look that good, huh?” she said, blood dribbling from between her lips. She wiped it away with a shaky hand.

“Like someone who got beat up,” said Paige, but her answering smile was short-lived. Her frown returned. “What the hell were you doing out here anyway? I’ve told you a hundred times not to wait up. And what happened to your gloves?”

Some members of the other flight crews were standing around in front of the tunnel doors, watching. Rose couldn’t see them very well, but she could hear them whispering. She ducked her head, embarrassed and suddenly exhausted. “Forgot ‘em,” she mumbled, “back in my locker.”

Paige half turned, looking over her shoulder at their audience. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, all right? Don’t forget we start half an hour early.”

There was a brief chorus of acknowledgments, along with a few groans and an offer to accompany them back to their pod which Paige rebuffed, and then they were alone under the harsh exit lights.

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmured. Her thoughts seemed almost as numb as her hands, and she began anxiously flexing her aching fingers. Her face really, really hurt. It was difficult to focus on anything else.

With a snort, Paige pulled her closer and wrapped her in a gentle hug. “For what?” she whispered in Rose’s ear. “ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. I should’ve been out here sooner . . . Are you okay? Really okay?”

All Rose could manage in response was a nod and a muffled “Uh-huh.” For the first time since her shift ended she almost felt warm. She sniffled and, as Paige withdrew, wiped the tears from her cheeks. Well, one cheek anyway. The other she didn’t dare touch.

“Come on, let’s get you back home. I’ll even make dinner tonight so you can take it easy, maybe get that swelling down a bit before Mom and Dad get back.”

“Oh blast,” breathed Rose, reeling slightly. “What am I gonna tell them?”

“What do you _want_ to tell them?”

There was a brief pause as Rose considered the question. “That I beat Mura’s ass.”

Paige had the decency not to laugh. Instead she took Rose’s arm, tilted her head over against Rose’s shoulder, and gave her sister a squeeze. “You’re such a goof.”

Rose leaned into the embrace, smiling and only wincing slightly at the way doing so made her lips sting. Then she tucked her hands back inside her still damp sleeves; and, with Paige walking next to her and keeping her steady, they trudged off together into the gloom, while along their path the safety lamps, one by one, finally started flickering to life.


	7. claim my place

The door chime sounded at eleven-hundred hours exactly, and Rose knew why and what to expect. But she still groaned as Finn sauntered in, a padded blue mat tucked under his arm and, in her opinion, a malevolent grin on his face.

“Hey! Ready to exercise?” he asked cheerfully.

She was sitting up in the cramped bed of the tiny cabin she’d been allotted on board the frigate _Surprise_ , the Resistance’s only surviving capital ship of note. She had a stack of schematics piled next to her and a couple more open on her lap—her study materials for this morning.

“Noooo,” she whined, hanging her head dramatically. “It can’t be time already.”

“It definitely is.”

“Fine,” said Rose, her voice low and sulky. “Just let me finish this one circuit chart while you’re setting up.”

She held up the chart, glancing at Finn out of the corner of her eyes as he unrolled the mat and arranged it on the metal deck next to her bed. Of course, she knew all these schematics backwards and forwards already. There’d been plenty of time to examine them since they rejoined the Resistance fleet.

Nothing but time.

It wasn’t like she could walk anywhere. And her hover chair meant she was restricted to limited duty.

“We found a new base yet?” she said casually, pretending to trace a circuit path with her finger. When she stole another quick peek, she found Finn looking at her, a skeptical tilt to his lips.

“Come on, Rose,” he said. “Stop delaying. This is important.”

“I know, I know. But I’m still sore from the last time. Can’t we just . . . take a day off?”

“No, we can’t. It’s going to keep hurting until you get stronger, and that’s not going to happen unless you do the exercises.”

Rose huffed and dropped the chart onto the pile. “How do you know so much about this stuff anyway?”

“Stormtroopers get hurt, too,” said Finn reasonably.

There wasn’t much to argue with on that point, and Rose looked down, nodding and rubbing at her left thigh. Besides, for all her griping, the worst part wasn’t really the therapy workouts or the soreness afterwards: it was the way the missing bits of her legs still hurt—twisting or needling pains, lasting for hours sometimes. 

The ship’s surgeon had assured her this was normal and usually dissipated over time and that if it didn’t, they could try some other treatments. But in the meantime she had no choice but to endure it.

Finn’s hand settled on her shoulder. “How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad today,” said Rose, putting on a cheerful smile. “I’m fine. Even got some sleep last night. I just don’t see why we need to be in such a hurry. At this rate, it’s gonna be weeks before they dig up some prosthetics for me.”

“Maybe,” said Finn, with a small shrug. “But when they do you’ll be ready.”

“Yeah, if everything else doesn’t fall off first,” she grumbled.

He chuckled and offered a hand. “You want some help getting down?”

Rose waved him off. “Nah. I think I’ve got it figured out. I’ve got a process.”

And a few new bruises under my overalls owing to prior experimentation, she thought as she turned and carefully slipped her legs over the side of the bed.

She was only starting to get used to the extra weight from the hardpoints which had been surgically grafted onto her stumps. Eventually they’d connect to cybernetic replacement limbs; right now their principle function was to prevent limb shrinkage and be a pain in her ass.

From her perch on the edge of the bed, and with Finn hovering nearby and looking poised to lunge in if needed, Rose slid down on her back, using her elbows on the mattress behind her to ease her descent to the floor.

Not quite the most dignified maneuver, but it worked.

“That’s pretty good,” said Finn, and Rose lifted her chin and smirked at him, pleased with her accomplishment. It was nice not to need help all the time.

“Told you,” she said. Propelled mostly by her hands, she scooted across onto the mat in three small hops, then lay back on the rubbery material. “Stretching first, right?”

“Always.”

Rose brushed her hair back behind her ears, closed her eyes, and took a series of deep, even breaths. But her efforts to relax met with limited success. They hadn’t even done anything yet and she could already feel muscles tensing painfully throughout her body.

This was going to be _so much_ fun.

“Ready?” said Finn.

“Not really.”

“ _Rose_ . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m ready, I guess.”

The first stretch hurt just as much as it had the day before. Maybe a little more. And by the end of the second, Rose was curling and uncurling her fingers, her palms stinging where her nails poked into the skin.

Everything after that was more or less a blur of pain.

Finn talked her through each movement, murmured encouragement at particularly difficult moments, and held her hand whenever he wasn’t using both of his to provide gentle resistance for the strengthening exercises. 

It was all Rose could manage just to follow his instructions. She had no idea how much time passed. Her awareness shrank down to the agony happening below her chest and Finn’s deep, steady voice. And in that thoughtless haze, she kept going until her lungs were burning and tears were squeezing out from between her scrunched up eyes.

When she finally came to the end of whatever horrifying bout of torture was currently being inflicted on her, she collapsed back onto the mat, trying to catch her breath.

“Finn,” she gasped. “I need . . . a break.”

The ceiling of her quarters was blurred. Her eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing, and darkness wavered at the edges of her vision. The muscles around her legs and midriff twitched and trembled, each flutter another tiny painful twist.

“How close . . . to done?”

“About halfway,” said Finn apologetically, which inspired Rose to breath a curse of sufficient virulence that he raised his eyebrows and his hands. “Okay,” he added. “Break it is.”

“Help me . . . help me sit up.”

He did so, hauling her up against the wall opposite her bed, and then took a seat on the floor across from her with his back leaning on the bed frame. He gave her a sympathetic look. “How you feeling so far?”

Rose snorted, too weak to laugh. “How does it look, dummy?” she said teasingly, smiling at him as her head slumped forward and her nose wrinkled. A droplet of sweat had gathered there, tickling briefly before she brushed it away. Her usually comfortable overalls now felt stifling, and she unfastened the front and peeled them off to her waist. The tank top beneath was soaked and sticking to her skin under her arms and down her back.

“Not so great?” Finn hazarded.

“About sums it up.”

They sat there together while Rose’s breathing slowly returned to normal. The loudest sound in the room was her hands brushing up and down the fabric over her thighs. As much as she wanted to try massaging some life back into her stiff muscles, pressing any harder than that hurt too much.

Everything hurt too much.

“This gets easier, right?” she said. “Please tell me it gets easier.”

There was no answer from Finn, and she frowned and lifted her head enough to eye him. He was rubbing his hands together in an anxious sort of way and staring off at nothing with a distracted look on his face, like something was bothering him. 

Or he has somewhere else to be, she reminded herself. He _had_ seemed impatient to get started before. Maybe it wasn’t only because of her attempts at procrastination.

In truth, she’d been wondering about that a lot lately—how he was finding the time to help with these therapy sessions. Everyone was so busy as they struggled to put the pieces of the Resistance back together. What important duties might be getting neglected so he could give her a hand doing some silly exercises?

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his help—and Rey’s for that matter—but compared to everything else that was going on, well . . . the Resistance needed the both of them far more than it needed a temporarily sidelined mechanic.

“You can go,” she said softly.

And that, of all things, caught Finn’s attention. He blinked slowly and looked at her. “Huh?”

“You can go, if you need to. I know you have other responsibilities. I’ll just call one of the nurse droids to finish this.” Rose gestured vaguely over her legs.

“What? No,” he said, giving his head a shake. Then he paused, winced. “I mean, I do have a meeting in half an hour, but no . . . it’s not that.”

He stared down at his hands.

Rose tilted her head, her frown deepening. “So what is it then?”

“I wanted—” Finn began, then shifted against the bed and sighed. “I wanted to ask you something.”

For some reason there was an ominous quality about those particular words and the quiet way he said them, and Rose smiled nervously. “Okay . . .”

“How much do you remember about what happened after you crashed into my speeder on Crait?”

Rose blinked her surprise while her hand, moving of its own accord, closed around the pendant dangling over her chest.

Why did he want to know about that?

“Uh . . . just a few things,” she said slowly, aware of Finn’s eyes on her, his sudden attention, as echoes of desperation settled on her chest, heavier than the gold in her medallion. 

Her memories of the battle were a confusing jumble, most of which had faded and blurred together in the intervening weeks. But her memory of what she’d felt at the time was as clear and strong as ever.

“You came to see if I was okay,” she continued. “The First Order fired their cannon. Then I guess you asked me a question? I think I remember answering, but that’s about it.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. Nothing else.”

It wasn’t quite true, because Rose didn’t know whether she would ever tell him what she’d thought as she veered her speeder into his, or how relieved she’d been to see him emerge from the smoking wreckage afterwards.

“Oh,” said Finn, nodding faintly.

“Why?” she said, focusing on him again. “Did something else happen?”

A pained expression crossed Finn’s face, lasting hardly an eye-blink before he smothered it with a smile. “Uh, no,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing important.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “You’re not acting like it was nothing important.”

And Finn’s response, a quick halfhearted laugh, did nothing to discourage her suspicion. Something was definitely eating at him.

“Really, it’s nothing,” he insisted.

“ _Finn_ . . .”

He squirmed, then reluctantly added, “Sort of.”

“What happened?”

“You kissed me, okay?”

The words had been blurted out so quickly that it took Rose’s brain a moment to catch up to her ears. “I what?” she said, in a voice so shaky it almost squeaked. Her mouth hung open for a second or two until she remembered to close it.

“You kissed me,” he repeated, slower this time, unmistakable.

“Oh,” she said.

A thousand different thoughts rushed through her mind all at once. She definitely didn’t remember anything like that happening, but he definitely didn’t look like he was lying about it either. And why would he lie? And besides, he was terrible at lying. But how could she have forgotten something like that?

“I’m sorry,” she said, without being quite sure why. The room seemed to be wobbling around her. She felt she should add something more but couldn’t think what.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, with a casual shrug, then smiled again. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Despite his attempt at covering it up, Rose thought she spotted a hurt look in his eyes, and she offered a smile of her own. “I could kiss you again, if that’d make you feel better about it,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. But the effect of her playful tone was somewhat undermined by the quaver in her voice.

Her heart thumped along a little faster.

And it was only then, as she glanced nervously at him to catch his reaction, that she became aware she was thinking about what kissing him might be like, and that, in fact, she wanted to kiss him right now.

She wanted it more than anything.

And she saw Finn sitting there, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped, seemingly unable to meet her eyes, and a thought arrived in her head like a jolt from an electro-shock prod.

He wants to kiss me, too.

She swallowed. Her cheeks burned and her heartbeat was thunder in her ears as she quietly said, “Or . . . you could come over here and kiss me instead.”

There was not even a hint of jest in her voice.

She stared at the rough texture of her dingy yellow overalls. She couldn’t seem to force herself to look anywhere else. Her fingers fiddled with her pendant, rubbing at the curved metal edges.

Maybe I was wrong, she told herself. Maybe he doesn’t—

But then she heard him get up and cross the distance between them in two hesitant steps and slide down against the wall until he was sitting next to her, his shoulder against hers, shirt against her bare skin.

She turned, looked up at him, half smiling, uncertain; and he wasn’t smiling at all but gazing right back at her, eyes dark and serious. She was breathing, yet couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs as he leaned closer, and she quickly let go of the pendant to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer still.

For him, it was probably the second time they kissed. For her, it was the first.

Most of her body hurt, including the bits of it she didn’t have anymore. She was tired and sweaty and badly in need of a nap. And for a second or two none of it mattered.

Then Finn pulled away, and Rose reluctantly let him. They exchanged nervous glances, neither of them quite able to speak yet.

Rose didn’t know what to say or even what to think. It wasn’t as though she had a lot of experience with this sort of thing. Of course, he probably didn’t either, but at least he didn’t look unhappy. Somewhat concerned, yes, and maybe a little confused, but not unhappy.

That was good, right?

“So . . .” she said finally, because the silence was getting awkward. “Does this mean I get to skip the rest of the exercises?”

And she immediately wished she could take it back. Out of a whole galaxy of options, she’d gone with yet another stupid joke.

“Not a chance,” he said, breaking into a grin that made her feel a bit less foolish and made her heart flutter. “But, uh, you were kind of right before. I do need to go. Kind of right now. The General won’t be happy if I’m late again. I think she doesn’t like me very much.”

Rose inhaled deeply, nodded. “Go on, then. I’ll call in the droid.”

She had to fight to get the words out, to make them sound casual. It would’ve been so easy to ask him not to go, and she really wanted to ask. But she also knew it would be selfish, which wasn’t something any of them could afford to be right now. And besides, she’d seen what it looked like when Leia Organa was disappointed with you. That wasn’t a fate she would wish on anyone.

“You’d better,” said Finn, as he got back to his feet. “I mean it. This is important. And it will get easier, I promise. In a week or two you’ll be breezing through it.”

“Only a week or two, huh?”

“Yeah, I know, I know . . .” He hesitated, fidgeting with the front of his shirt. “I’ll—I’ll come back after. To check on you, I mean. After the meeting . . . Uh, do you need any help before I go?”

“Nah, I’m fine. And I’ve got my comlink right here,” said Rose, patting the pocket on her thigh. “Now get going, before you get into trouble.”

Finn nodded, turned away, but on his way out he lingered at the door, looking back at her for a moment with an apologetic smile on his face, as if perhaps he didn’t really want to leave either but couldn’t quite bring himself to risk staying; and then he was gone.

The very instant the door closed behind him, Rose slumped over, half laughing, half hyperventilating, amazed at what’d just happened.

I need to tell Paige, she thought. She’ll never believe this. _I_ barely believe it.

She dug around in her pocket, found the comlink, and got about half way through dialing in the old Cobalt Squadron frequency they’d adopted as their personal channel before she remembered. 

And it felt like someone had punched her in the chest. She let out a tiny gasp as, all at once, the elation she’d felt just . . . drained away. 

She sat there for a long time, cradling the comlink in her lap and frowning at the row of numbers on its display. She didn’t bothering entering the last few, of course, because there was no point. There was nobody to answer anymore.

No tears came, and it wasn’t the immediate, pressing, deep-down hurt like it’d once been, but the thought stung—far worse than her aching muscles or the prickling in her legs.

I won’t get to tell Paige anything ever again.

The deck was trembling slightly beneath her, the rumble of a big starship with an active drive reminding her where she was. Otherwise she might’ve been able to pretend she was back in her family’s pod on Hays Minor, sitting on the warm floor of the sun-room, the snowgrape vines a patchwork of green on the walls, their teardrop leaves turned towards the blinding artificial lights overhead.

She could almost smell the fragrant blossoms again. She could almost convince herself Paige was still only a room away.

So when the comlink beeped in her hands and brought her thoughts abruptly back to the present, she flinched. Her heart skipped a beat. But no, it wasn’t the sound for an answered call; instead someone was calling her. She sighed and let herself breathe for a few seconds before answering.

“Hey, Rose?” It was Rey’s voice. She sounded excited.

“I’m here,” said Rose, with an effort.

“You doing anything right now?”

Rose looked around at her quarters: the messy bed covered in piles of schematics, the tray of half eaten breakfast on her nightstand, the exercise mat, the hover chair parked in a corner. “Not really. Why?”

“Could you maybe come down to the mechanic’s bay in hanger two? I’ve got something I want to show you.”


End file.
